Dorothy Clark - Joy for Mourning

Sam’s stomach growled. His Adam’s apple slid up and down his skinny throat as he swallowed hard.

Thad didn’t blame him. His own stomach was reminding him he hadn’t had time to eat today. He bit back a grin and watched in open admiration as the plump woman continued her exquisite form of blackmail.

Betsy turned her back on the boy and opened the pierced tin door of a pine cupboard. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted out. She pulled out a loaf, sliced it into thick slabs, then carried it and a small brown crock to the table.

“We’d be pleased if you’d stay and take supper with us, Dr. Allen. It’s been a space since you’ve visited. The boy can wait there by the door till you’ve eaten.” Betsy’s eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. “Do you like apple butter or plain cream butter?”

“I might could wash my hands.”

The grumbled, reluctant words were fairly dripping with saliva. Thad choked back a chuckle. Poor Sam—Betsy didn’t by so much as word or deed betray that she even heard him. She went right on as if he hadn’t spoken. “No matter, Doctor, we’ll have both.” She put a second crock on the table, then moved back to the stove, folded the hem of her blue apron and used it to lift an oblong crockery dish from the oven.

Thad’s stomach tightened at sight of the dark juices bubbling their way through a delicately browned crust. Blackberry cobbler! He took a long sniff of the heady aroma riding on the rising steam.

The cobbler proved too much for Sam. He jerked forward, staring at the dessert. “I ’low as how a bath—oncet—might be a good thing.”

Betsy Monroe nodded and smoothed her apron back in place. “The tub is in there.” She pointed to a small room that jutted out onto the back porch. “Go strip down to your altogether and climb in. Arthur will fetch you hot water and soap. I’ll set by dinner till you’ve finished. And mind you clean your hair and scrub behind your ears.”

She stared after Sam as he trudged to the little room. “Poor young’un, seems like he ain’t never had a mite of love or lookin’ after, but we’ll soon take care of that.” She looked up and gave him a radiant smile. “May the Lord bless you for the work you’ve done this day, Dr. Allen. Now, take your ease—I need to go fetch some of Ben’s old clothes.” She swiped at her eyes with her apron and hurried from the room.

Thad pulled out one of the plank-bottom chairs surrounding the table, lowered his tall, lean body onto it and directed his attention toward the sound of wildly splashing water accompanied by grunts and groans of protest coming from the little room. A grin tugged at his lips. Sounds as if Arthur has his hands full.

“I ain’t gettin’ my hair wet! You can’t make—”

Thad burst into laughter at the glubbing, choking sounds that followed Sam’s pronouncement. That boy was learning about cleanliness the hard way. He rose to his feet as Betsy came rushing back into the kitchen, her arms full of clothes.

There was a flurry of splashing.

“Mercy! Sounds as if there’s quite a struggle goin’ on in there. I’m not sure my berry cobbler can overcome this.” Betsy’s cheeks dimpled as she smiled up at him.

Thad chuckled. “I think that cobbler can win out over anything. And I’m pretty sure Arthur will prove victorious in this particular battle.” He nodded toward the clothes. “Why don’t you give me those. I’ll take them in to Sam and—” He jerked his head around as a howl of sheer fury came from the other room.

“I ain’t usin’ no soap, you jolt-headed, da—!” There was more splashing, choking, coughing, followed by Arthur’s calm voice. “We don’t use them words in this house. Here’s the soap.”

Betsy grinned and handed him the clothes. “Sounds like Sam’s having a hard time—poor tyke.” Her grin turned into laughter. “I’d better give him a double serving.” She turned to the stove. Thad’s mouth watered as she picked up the long fork and poked around in the iron pot again. He pivoted on his heel and headed for the little room. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t eaten for twenty-four hours and he’d be horsewhipped if he wouldn’t scrub Sam himself for a plate of Betsy’s pot roast!

“Why, Trudy, it’s lovely.”

Elizabeth’s maid smiled. “I’m pleased you like it, mum. Will there be anything else?”

“No. That’s all for now.”

“Very good, mum.” Trudy put the hairbrush down on the dressing table, bobbed an awkward curtsy and left the bedroom.

Laina turned her head from side to side, studying her new hairdo in the mirror. It looked wonderful. Whoever would have thought that clumsy young woman possessed such a talent? Annette could take instruction from Trudy. Laina laughed at the thought of her French maid’s reaction to that scenario and lifted her hand to touch the dark brown curls that tumbled from the knot of hair at the crown of her head to her shoulders. The style would take some getting used to, but it was definitely flattering.

Laina pursed her lips and leaned closer to the mirror. Without the fringe of bangs Annette had insisted were all the rage, her face looked more…more what? Dramatic? Yes, that was it. Her eyes seemed larger, more luminous, their dark blue color striking, their long, thick lashes arresting. And her high cheekbones appeared more pronounced. Her full lips more noticeable. Oh, dear, that wasn’t good!

Laina frowned and rose to her feet. Her mouth was too wide, and with the natural wine color of her lips it looked enormous! She sighed, snuffed the candles and headed for the door. At least she had good teeth. She was thankful for that. And for the borrowed dress. She smiled and brushed her hand over the pale green velvet fabric that whispered softly as she walked. Today she would choose the fabrics and patterns for her new gowns. After she visited with the children.

“And who is this?” Laina stared down at the huge black dog looking up at her. The monster’s white-tipped tail wagged back and forth like a metronome.

“My dog—Mr. Buffy.” Sarah wrapped her arms about the animal’s neck.

The wagging tail increased speed. Laina laughed. “How do you do, Mr. Buffy? I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The dog gave one short bark and sat down. Sarah plopped down beside him, giggling as he licked her cheek. “Mr. Buffy loves me.”

“I can see that.”

“Doggy.” Mary toddled over and patted Mr. Buffy’s neck, then giggled and stuck her finger in his ear. The dog gave a shake of his great head, toppling her to the floor. She let out a startled cry and lifted her arms.

Laina scooped her up. “You’re all right, Mary.”

“Doggy.” Mary’s lower lip pouted out and she pointed an accusing, pudgy little finger at the big black brute looking up at them.

Laina laughed and squeezed her tight. “Mr. Buffy didn’t mean to knock you down, precious. You tickled his ear…like this.” She feathered her finger along the toddler’s tiny ear. Mary giggled and ducked her head, sliding her little arms around Laina’s neck as far as they could reach and holding on tight. Laina’s heart swelled with longing.

“Tory.”

“Tory?” Laina shot Elizabeth a wordless plea for help.

“She wants you to read her a story.” Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. “The little extortionist asks for one whenever she thinks someone feels sorry for her.”

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